


Converging Agendas

by TiggyMalvern



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Manipulation, all the snark, sex as a business transaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiggyMalvern/pseuds/TiggyMalvern
Summary: Shortly after the Cardassians vacate Terok Nor, the station's tailor finds himself with a visitor he knows only by reputation. A visitor with near-limitless abilities and a bargain to strike...





	Converging Agendas

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Una for the inspiration and the beta. Honestly we both just thought that dialogue between Garak and Q would be AWESOME. Originally posted February 2002. Set during Emissary and A Man Alone (the first three episodes of the series).

I closed the door after my final customer with more than a little relief. Now at last I could finish my work on Ensign Flores' dress without distraction. I turned the lighting level down gratefully, using the manual controls. The voice activation sensors still weren't functional.

Business had been troubled for a short while before the changeover - Cardassians had little requirement for new clothes as they prepared for their departure, and of course there was no custom forthcoming from the Bajorans. Things began to improve with the arrival of the first Starfleet humans. My shop hadn’t been too badly damaged when the Cardassians left - they reserved most of their ire for the alien storekeepers - and fortunately my trade isn’t reliant on technology. Since my finances weren’t at their best, though, I found myself accepting any work that was offered, even with unreasonably short notice. Hence my situation, remaining behind after normal hours to complete a particularly charming outfit required the following day.

The flash of light was so entirely unexpected that even I was unable to mask my surprise. I recovered rapidly, however, and managed to address the tall humanoid who had appeared in a convincingly normal voice. "I take it that you would be Q." The nature of his entrance and his physical appearance were familiar to me from the files.

"Ah, so you've heard of me? I'm flattered," the entity announced, in a manner that could only be described as 'preening'. His voice changed abruptly as he leaned in; a poor attempt to intimidate by my standards, really. "If you prove to be amusing, perhaps I won't tell Starfleet that the Cardassians have infiltrated their security."

"Not the Cardassians," I replied, with a justifiable degree of pride. "Just me."

"Ah. It seems that I have made the right choice." He studied me for some long seconds, losing that mocking air that had surrounded him since his arrival.

"I take it that I have no need to introduce myself?" I asked dryly. I had no intention of allowing this creature to continue gazing at me as if I were a laboratory specimen.

"Of course not. Elim Garak - Obsidian Order agent, once a torturer of some renown, now a tailor. Ah, and not forgetting, an outcast and a failure." He imbued that last drawn-out word with such venomous emphasis that I felt it as an almost physical pain, followed immediately by the rushing flood of endorphins from the implant to compensate. I can only excuse such an appalling lapse on my part as a result of my fellow Cardassians' so recent departure. I had been in exile for some time, but it was possible to avoid remembering the precise nature of my circumstances while I was still surrounded by my people.

The Q alien drew back with a dramatic expression of disgust. My confusion must have been obvious for he chose to clarify his loathing. "Oh, I know all about that device in your head. If you're going to keep doing that, you won't be of any use to me." He turned away from me and raised one hand.

"No, wait!" If even half of what I'd read about the Q were true, I was unlikely to find another opportunity like this one. "Did you have some arrangement in mind?"

The interest returned to his face. "A spark of the old Garak," he commented, peering at me closely. I wasn't entirely comfortable with this scrutiny. "If you agree to help me, I'll give you what you want the most."

"I'll be able to go home?" I asked cautiously.

He shrugged eloquently. "If that is what you want the most."

"And what, precisely, would my end of this bargain be?"

"I simply want to spend some time with you." He leaned his body against the edge of my cutting table, his smile not in the least genuine. "Perhaps you're aware that my main subject of interest is the humans?"

"The Federation are under that impression," I replied guardedly.

"So they are," he agreed, making no real effort to convince me of his candour. "But my study of the humans is of little use without valid comparisons. How can I be expected to test them without knowing something of the other species they compete with?"

"You don't seem to be lacking in information in my case."

"I know _everything_ about you, and the history of your entire race." It wasn't said boastfully at all; a statement of pure fact, with the slightest undertone of threat. "But there is more to understanding mortals than that, it would seem from my experiences." His voice lowered now, yet carried with equal intensity. "I want to know how you think and why you think it. I want to get inside your head, Elim Garak."

This answer left me with some considerable unease - I was almost certain that was his intention. "And why have you chosen me for this privilege?"

He sighed and walked away from the table, waving a hand in my direction as he spoke. "Your species is insular and secretive. I was unlikely to find someone of suitable status willing to talk with me on a Cardassian world."

"A problem which wouldn't exist if you were to appear as a Cardassian," I challenged. Maybe the files were wrong; maybe this Q really wasn't capable of such things.

He stared at me, very directly. "Oh, I am fully capable."

Somehow it was the look more than the telepathy that convinced me it would be unwise to doubt him.

"But I wouldn't get the information I want that way, you understand," he continued more lightly. "I would get only the surface interactions, the silly little social graces and snubs that you mortals lay so much store by. I want more than that - and I need a willing volunteer."

"Perhaps those silly little social graces deserve more credit," I suggested. "A complex society such as ours functions more efficiently if everyone follows some basic rules."

He quirked me a small smile. "Don't be an idiot. Those formalities only exist to keep the masses under control. You detest such hypocrisies as much as I do."

"Except when I can apply them to my advantage," I conceded, with a wide, false smile of my own.

He laughed at that. "Elim, I do believe we'll get along splendidly! So what do you say?" He switched mood yet again with those last few words, regarding me fixedly.

I cast a critical eye over him. "I don't think that Starfleet uniform is really you," I said mildly. I had no intention of sealing any bargains with this alien until I'd done some further research. "Something with a little more flair, perhaps?"

He looked down at himself with a sigh. "You're right, of course, but it's become rather a habit lately. And I like the colour." He flashed, and was abruptly attired in what had been the height of Bajoran fashion before the occupation rendered style something of a lesser priority. Complete with earring and nose ridges.

"Better," I commented, "but not the most appropriate choice for spending time with a Cardassian, unless you'd like to attract a great deal of attention."

"Ah, so you agree to my terms?" He beamed at me in a fair imitation of inoffensiveness.

"Not just yet, if you don't mind," I smiled back thinly. "I'd prefer to sleep on it."

"By all means," he proclaimed expansively. His narrowed glance told me he knew perfectly well that I was unlikely to refuse. It seemed this Q could be most amenable as long as he was getting his own way. "I wouldn't like to attract too much attention, by the way," he added casually. "It might be better if you didn't mention my little visit."

Fortunately I had no intention of doing so. Who was there for me to tell? "I don't imagine the Federation would be too pleased to have you here."

"Ah," he said a little sadly. "They just don't seem to appreciate me, no matter what I do. When I offer to help, they turn on me. Me!" He looked genuinely affronted. Being in an adopted form didn't seem to detract from his theatrical abilities. "That's one of the things I'd like to find out from you," he added, leaning across the table towards me once more. "What it is that makes you mortals so stubborn."

I thought that complaint a little trite, coming from a being that reacted with extreme threat when piqued, but resisted the temptation to point it out.

"But let's not talk about them," he continued more ebulliently, lightly pushing himself upright as he spoke. "They're so tiresome. What do you think of this?"

This time when the flash faded from my dark-adapted eyes he was outwardly human again. He wore a short, delicately embroidered dark jacket with loose-fitting trousers in a soft fabric the same shade as the uniform had been. He resembled one of the more flamboyant freighter captains, which I suppose was the idea.

"Hmmm." I circled around him with a considering eye, taking in the cut of the fabric and the quality of the stitching. "Not bad, but I think the jacket needs to be an inch or two longer." I tugged gently at the hem, careful not to stretch the material beyond its natural tolerance. 

Instantly the jacket lengthened sufficiently to rest just at the level of his hips, and I patted it into place. "Perfect."

He admired himself in one of my mirrors as I stepped back. "You're quite right. How pleasant to meet someone of such genuinely good taste."

I instilled my voice with a suitable level of false modesty. "Oh, I try to do my best, whatever I turn my hand to." 

His eyes fixed on mine in the mirror. "I know you do. That's why I'm here."

Once more I wondered precisely what I was getting myself into. 

He smiled brightly at me then. "Where do people go in the evenings around here? I'd like to try out my new look. Why don't you join me for dinner? We could have a little friendly conversation."

I had rather different plans for the evening. "I'm afraid I must get on with my work; I have a dress to finish."

He waved a hand dismissively. "I can fix that for you in an instant."

"No, thank you," I replied quickly. Professional pride counted for something even as a tailor, and my hand-made garments were always genuine. 

Fortunately he didn't take offence. "Oh, well then, I'm certain I shall see you tomorrow. Enjoy your research, Elim." He flashed brilliantly once more and vanished. 

It is a measure of how delicate my finances were that I did actually finish the dress before shutting down the shop for the night.

On returning to my quarters, I immediately called up the files on Q. I hoped to find some more information, details that had eluded my earlier casual interest, but there was nothing I could make use of. I investigated the records of several other races, but those I could access made no obvious mention of such a creature.

The only advantage I held was that his behaviour and actions fitted so closely with those recorded by the Federation ship. The information made him predictable, so far as it was possible to predict the actions of Q.

I didn't believe his explanation of scientific study as a reason for visiting me, of course. 'Benign' was not a word that sprung to mind when referring to his interference in Starfleet affairs. Whatever this alien's real motives were, however, it was unlikely there would be a price I wouldn't pay in order to go home.

I really had very little choice.

"I knew you'd see it my way." The smug voice spoke to me out of the air. 

I was left feeling even more uneasy, if that were possible. I slept badly.

*****

The following day I wasn’t in the best of moods, between the lack of sleep and the unpleasant feeling that I'd been manipulated into a rather dubious bargain. The morning passed uneventfully, however, with a steady trickle of newly-arrived Starfleet personnel through the shop. I suspected that most of them were there to investigate the 'Cardassian spy', but enough made purchases to leave me grateful for the rumours. Ensign Flores was delighted with her dress, and her payment allowed me to settle one or two outstanding debts.

When Q flashed into existence as I closed the shop for lunch, I wasn't particularly surprised. Nor was I sure which of my relief and my apprehension was the greater. He wore the same human ensemble he'd admired the previous night, with some minor detail changes to the embroidery.

"Ah, Elim! I believe we have a lunch date," he announced grandly. "You're not having second thoughts now, are you?"

"Not at all," I smiled. I had my reservations about this alien, but he was still my only chance of returning home. "We'll have to eat at the replimat, I'm afraid, the other establishments are all closed." I opened the door, allowing him to precede me onto the Promenade. At least the worst of the debris had been cleared away by now.

He leaned casually against the shop doorway as I operated the lock. "I believe the Ferengi will be reopening his bar in a few days. Others will follow."

"So I hear," I replied.

He leaned in closer to my ear and whispered at me. "Maybe you'd better keep an eye on this Commander Sisko."

"Oh, I fully intend to," I said earnestly. The pressure exerted on Quark by the new station commander wasn’t quite common knowledge, but I had pieced together some information from my Starfleet visitors. And if my questions encouraged them in their spy illusions, I wouldn't object while it was clearly good for business.

Q smiled. "I see you haven't mislaid your talents. Personally, I quite enjoyed watching that horrible man squirm." He shuddered theatrically. "They’re quite a disgusting race." 

"On a personal level, I might be inclined to agree with you," I said. "On the other hand, they do have a certain... single-mindedness in pursuit of what they want that one is compelled to admire."

"But they're so pitiful in what they pursue," Q bemoaned. "Not power or knowledge, just little metal bars that they hoard jealously. They're so fond of their money that they don't even enjoy spending it. Where's the fun in that?"

He seemed to almost bounce across the Promenade as we headed for the replimat. I had to wonder how long this alien could possibly confine himself to mortal appearance when he so clearly loved being the centre of attention. "True," I conceded. "They often don't appreciate the value of a good quality fabric if they can have a cheaper one of similar appearance. Cardassians are willing to pay for the best."

"Don't congratulate yourself too much," Q said, peering around the station and looking particularly unimpressed. "I really can't reconcile such good taste in clothing with such poor taste in décor. All these angles and clutter - did you Cardassians never grasp the subtlety of a simple design?"

We collected our food and took our seats at a vacant table next to a wall. "It's not exactly flattered by the current lighting," I protested. "The shadows are too harsh, it over-accentuates the geometrics."

"And at your preferred lighting levels?"

"Ah, then the shadows harmonise the patterns, blending them one into the other so that each disparate section becomes part of a subtly-changing whole," I reminisced. "Cardassians design their buildings to represent the complexities of our people, but influenced by the function of the building or the room in question. We wanted our architecture to reflect our uniqueness as a species, our rise from a scattered peasant race to galactic power through the virtues of organisation and sacrifice. Our most basic designs represent this story in symbolic form, and we utilise them everywhere. These are then modified according to the purpose. This station, for instance, is primarily a military base - the docking ring is circular for practicality, of course, but those great sweeping arms curve inwards to protect the station and its ships. They symbolise our strength, our willingness to come together against those who would impinge upon what is ours -"

I trailed off, unnerved by Q's intense gaze, reminded somewhat forcefully of my status as a laboratory specimen.

"Oh, do go on," he encouraged. "This is quite fascinating. You haven't told me a thing I didn't already know, yet the way you say it is so revealing."

"I wasn't aware I was so transparent," I replied, somewhat acidly. 

"Don't let it bother you." He dismissed my discomfort indifferently. "You're talking to me, remember? It's all part of our little arrangement."

"You want me to talk about architecture?" I found this most unlikely.

He waved a hand eloquently. "You can talk about whatever you please, anything about your planet, your species, your opinions. I want to hear it all."

"You really have the time to waste on this ridiculous farce?" He must already know that I doubted his veracity - confronting him with it altered nothing.

He simply smiled. "I have an infinite amount of time to waste, from your perspective."

He didn't speak quietly, and I peered around at the surrounding tables, whose occupants must surely be intrigued by this bizarre conversation. No-one was looking. They ate their meals, engrossed in their own relationships. I looked back at Q, watching his smile widen. "Don't worry about them," he said confidentially. "They won't hear anything they shouldn't."

So he recognised his own inability to fake mortality and compensated for it. I should have known he wouldn't leave it to chance. "What will they hear?" I asked with genuine curiosity.

He shrugged. "Whatever they expect to. I look like a freighter captain, I imagine they'll overhear tedious things about engine specifications and delivery dates."

"Well at least now I know what to say should anybody ask. Though why they would think I have any interest in that I can't imagine."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something. Talking your way out of situations isn’t exactly new for you, is it Elim?"

"Quite." I forced a smile. I found myself particularly unnerved by the details of my history this alien must be aware of. "But if I recall, you were keen to discuss the origins of Cardassian architectural styling." I changed the subject with a singular lack of grace but a great sense of relief, returning to my exposition on design. I have always been able to talk at length when it proves convenient, a natural gift one might call it. On this occasion, however, I couldn't help but remain slightly inhibited by that constant stare. I was only able to eat a small portion of my lunch while I talked - Q was quick to restart the conversation whenever I appeared to flag. Q himself picked lightly at his food to give the appearance of eating, but actually spent more time pushing things around his plate or just ignoring it completely as he watched me.

Finally I pushed my tray to one side and rose to my feet. "I'm afraid I really must be going now - I have a fitting scheduled in ten minutes." I had rarely been so grateful for the chance to retreat into the banal world of a simple tailor.

"Oh, how sad," Q replied. "And I was so enjoying our conversation. Still, I expect I'm invited to join you for dinner this evening?"

I smiled tightly at the rhetorical question. "Of course," I said, employing a little of that social tact he so detested and knowing it would be transparent. "I'd be delighted."

He laughed loudly. "Oh, Elim, you really are a most entertaining companion." And he vanished.

No-one in the replimat noticed anything amiss.

*****

I returned to my quarters that evening to eat. I had no desire for another public meal where I was placed at so obvious a disadvantage, even if nobody else would be aware of my agitation.

Q arrived, as anticipated, just as I sat down to my meal. It wasn't much - the replicators were currently unreliable and it was wise not to be too ambitious. I hadn't ordered for Q. It seemed unlikely that he would bother to keep up the pretence in private.

"Ah, Elim, such a delight to see you again," he announced, seating himself alongside me unasked. He made an obvious show of peering around the table. "What's this? Nothing for your guest?" 

If I hadn't known better, I might have thought he was genuinely hurt. "You don't eat," I said bluntly.

"Well, not out of necessity, no, but I was rather looking forward to trying some Cardassian delicacies. I have to say I'm disappointed in you, I did think you had better manners."

"And I thought you didn't hold with such hypocrisies."

He drew himself upright in the chair. "On the whole I find them nonsensical, but this is _me_. Your unassuming little mortal life has been graced by the presence of a Q. You might have made an effort."

"Although if you know everything," I hazarded, "you should already know how Cardassian food tastes."

"I do. But knowing how something tastes isn't the same thing as actually tasting it, wouldn't you agree?"

An argument that could hardly be refuted. I poured him a glass of kanar and asked the replicator for a plate of mixed Cardassian entrees. I wondered how one or two of the more intricate recipes would turn out, but under the circumstances he couldn’t hold me at fault if they tasted terrible.

He swirled the kanar gently round his glass before sipping at it. "Exquisite," he announced.

"It's one of my better bottles," I conceded. "I thought I might need it tonight." I didn't quite manage to keep the acid out of my voice and he laughed. 

"Ah, just for my benefit, I should have known." He raised his glass to the light and examined it carefully. "Such interesting crystal too."

"It's over one hundred and fifty standard years old," I supplied. "It's by Pa'Veck."

"Ah, yes, from Merak - a master of her craft." He genuinely did seem to have knowledge of everything I mentioned. "I see you didn't leave Cardassia totally destitute," he smirked.

"Not quite," I replied. "I did have a little warning and it was always a possibility. One has to plan for every eventuality." Except I had no way of planning for the alien sitting at my table.

We spent most of the meal discussing my possessions and artwork. Q seemed particularly taken with my Brocaran sculpture, and we held a lively debate about its possible interpretations. Since the meaning of those works had been a subject of much conjecture for two centuries, I was hardly likely to reach a definitive answer; Q claimed to know it, but refused to enlighten me. At least, by getting Q to contribute to the conversation, I was able to finish my meal. Q picked at his, as before, trying a little of everything. He seemed more appreciative of my kanar, and finished more than one glass.

As I cleared away the plates, Q vanished and reappeared sprawled across a sofa that hadn't been in my quarters a moment before. No flash this time - I decided that was probably an affectation to impress an audience. I refilled both our glasses and seated myself in the chair opposite. Somehow keeping the low table between us gave me the illusion of a defensive barrier. Ridiculous to imagine anything might be a barrier to a Q, but comforting all the same.

Q regarded me speculatively. "So tell me, Elim, why haven't you informed Starfleet about some of the amusing tricks the Cardassians left for them? It can't be out of any fondness for the old administration."

I smiled benignly. "Oh, I don't expect they need me to tell them anything. After all, Starfleet personnel are highly experienced, are they not?"

"On the other hand," Q mused, sipping from his glass, "they have little practical experience with Cardassian systems."

"In which case," I replied, saluting him cheerfully with my kanar. "I will discover just how adaptable these humans are."

At that moment the lights flickered abruptly and died. It took only a moment for the back-ups I had installed a few weeks earlier to power up, giving adequate lighting, if slightly dimmer than even I preferred it. I cast a curious glance at Q. "I presume you know something about this?"

"I believe Chief O'Brien was attempting to retrieve some of the purged Cardassian engineering files."

"Ah," I replied solemnly. "That would certainly do it."

"I have to say, I admire your foresight in arranging your own circuitry," Q continued.

I did feel a little smug about that - not only the thought, but the execution in the difficult period before the changeover. "It seemed prudent," I acknowledged. "Once it became clear that the Cardassians were going to withdraw, some disruption was likely."

"You're not going to let Starfleet in on the secret?" he asked, with a hint of malicious glee.

I sighed. "Unfortunately, I was only able to obtain equipment to power the heating and lighting. If they haven't solved the problem in the next hour, I'll have to fill them in or miss dessert." I waved a hand in the direction of the darkened replicator.

"Ah, well," Q said sadly. "At least O'Brainless will be kept amused for a short while. He does have the most expressive use of language when his equipment malfunctions. You should listen in sometime."

I laughed softly. "I believe I'm already acquainted with an extensive variety of Standard insults and profanities."

Q looked at me sharply. "So you are."

"The problem with Starfleet," I ventured, "is that they've had too much good fortune of late. They genuinely believe their own inflated propaganda, even while they muddle through the galaxy getting into the most disastrous situations."

"And usually getting out of them again," Q pointed out. "You haven't spent much time with humans, have you?"

"Not really," I replied truthfully. "I’ve studied them, of course, but I only encountered a few in the course of my duties." Those few had not been the most difficult of my subjects.

"And there lies the problem," Q announced. "Humans really are the most infuriating creatures. You can know everything about them there is to be known and they will still surprise you."

I smiled, suddenly interested. "You sound as if you almost admire them."

Q made a face. "Oh, please. Don't get me wrong, the majority of them are tedious in the extreme. But there are a few who can be intriguing, who think differently from the rest."

"Ah, yes, paragons of Starfleet virtue, I'm sure."

Q raised an eyebrow and echoed my tone. "Starfleet isn't the most inspiring creation of a race, I'll grant you." 

"They have a set of regulations designed to take all the amusement out of life," I continued, enjoying getting any sort of concession out of this arrogant creature.

He appeared to consider that for a moment. "True. And yet they break them with the most astonishing regularity and with very little censure; it’s almost a requirement for promotion. The whole system appears to rely on the morality of individuals who cast aside the rulebook whenever it becomes inconvenient."

This was news to me. I was aware of occasional breaches of protocol, but Starfleet had led us to believe that such transgressors were hastily punished. "Interesting. I'm surprised it doesn't collapse immediately - there must be those who see opportunities in such a flexible system."

"Oh, there are - and the consequences can be most illuminating. But sooner or later the corruption will always reach one of the officers who stands firm in their silly ideals and get stamped out."

"Or the officer gets stamped out," I suggested.

"Well, that too," Q agreed. "Not as often as you would imagine, but it happens."

"And Starfleet conveniently bury all this and continue to ply us with their pristine image," I concluded, draining my glass. "Perhaps you're right - maybe I should pay them a little more attention."

He glanced sideways at me. "It might be to your benefit."

"These paragons of yours..." I said thoughtfully.

"Hardly _my_ paragons," he responded.

I ignored the interruption, mentally filing his protest for later consideration. "These would be the ones who break the rules, yes?"

"Sometimes." He shrugged. "And that's the most infuriating thing of all about humans. This week they will do as they please - next week, in a near-identical situation, it's all holier-than-thou quoting of the law."

"Unpredictable." And that was why this near-omnipotent alien was intrigued by them. For all his knowledge, he couldn't understand how mere humans worked, and it drove him crazy. And now he wanted to know if it was just the humans, or if other species were equally contrary. I smiled, fairly satisfied with my reasoning.

"Don't be too confident, my dear Garak," Q said in a dark voice. "If that were true, how much less likely would it be that you could understand _me_?"

A valid point, certainly, and one for which I had no adequate rejoinder. 

There was a low hum and the lights increased to their prior brightness level. "It seems the Chief has saved me from a lot of tedious explanations," I said. "Dessert?" I was making my way to the replicator as I spoke.

"Oh, I'll try a little of whatever you're having," he answered casually. I was only half-listening. He'd given me a great deal to think about.

I managed to keep up my half of the conversation for the rest of the evening, though I was unable to draw him further on his relationships with the humans. I pleaded tiredness at a reasonably early hour. Once Q had gone, I examined the Starfleet files more closely. I was certain he knew that I was checking up; it just seemed less offensive to be subtle about it.

This time I was concentrating on the bridge crew of the Enterprise rather than just Q himself.

*****

The next few days continued in much the same vein, with Q frequently around when I wasn't either working or sleeping. We discussed a wide range of subjects - Cardassian politics and history, our attitudes to the other races, artwork and social structure. Our discussions on Cardassian literature were particularly stimulating - whichever book I mentioned, he could instantly dissect it in depth and compare it with others of its genre. It had been several years since I had had a conversational adversary worthy of me. He detested The Never-Ending Sacrifice and its ilk of course; self-sacrifice had no place in Q's worldview. But that only increased the delight with which I argued with him.

Overall, I began to feel a good deal less ill-at-ease in his presence. It becomes hard to think badly of someone with whom one has spent many hours in civilized debate, particularly after an enforced isolation such as mine. While my fellow Cardassians had graced me with their custom, I wasn't to be found on anyone's guest list. The more I drew Q into conversation rather than simply letting him listen to me talk, the more I was inclined to forget just how alien he really was.

It was around this time that I finally became convinced that Q was flirting with me.

This revelation was not so belated as it may seem; one should never underestimate the possibilities for cross-cultural misunderstanding. Q's belligerent, acerbic and intimidating manner was of course instantly recognisable as a sign of sexual interest to any Cardassian, and my explorations of human literature had led me to believe that it may be seen that way by at least some members of that species as well. But as for Q - Starfleet records gave no indication that the Q demonstrated any kind of reproductive behaviour at all. I had considered it prudent to allow for the possibility that this alien was unaware of the signals he was sending.

By this time, however, things had become a little too obvious to ignore. Which left me to decide what I was going to do about it.

I have to confess that certain aspects of my social life had been lacking since my exile. I was used to celibacy, certainly – attraction to one's own gender isn’t something that a Cardassian advertises, making all such encounters risky and fleeting. My current dry period had been rather longer than even I was used to, however. I wasn’t yet desperate enough to avail myself of Quark's holosuites, but I had considered it. A human, at least in body, would not have been my first choice of partner, but I was unlikely to be getting many other offers.

In the end, though, all of that was irrelevant. The truth is that I would have done anything to get home. I would have slept with Fek'lhr if that had been the deal offered. 

I began to flirt back, wondering all the while just what Q hoped to gain from this game.

*****

The following evening found me once more picking my way through fresh debris scattered across the Promenade. The intermittent fighting was becoming most tiresome, and it certainly wasn't going to encourage custom.

Q was lounging against a wall opposite and bounced across to walk beside me. He looked around with clinical disinterest. "This really is the most dreadful place to live," he commented. "How do you bear it?"

A familiar tension rose through my jaw as my teeth pressed together. "It isn't always easy."

"I suppose it helps to be Cardassian," he said. "After all, you're usually at war with somebody - the humans, the Bajorans, the Klingons before that. What's one more day of death and destruction?"

I refused to be baited, despite my rather foul mood. I’d spent most of the afternoon salvaging my merchandise from the all-pervasive dust. I made an effort to keep my tone civil. "And where exactly were you while we were having so much fun? I couldn't help but notice your absence at lunch."

"Oh, here and there, arranging one or two things," he replied evasively. "With the situation the way it was, I didn't think you'd appreciate one of our little chats. I do hope you weren't too offended, Elim," he finished with profound insincerity.

"Your assistance could have proven useful," I pointed out. "You might have difficulty keeping your half of our bargain if I'm dead."

"No, I wouldn't," he replied easily. "And how do you know I _wasn’t_ making myself useful?

I considered that. The timing of Sisko's return through the wormhole just before my erstwhile colleagues blew the station into oblivion was certainly fortuitous. It was possible that Q had influenced events. My instincts said that probably wasn’t the case, but he would never tell me the truth and I had no way of knowing. I turned my attention to his other statement. "Are you saying that you can resurrect the dead?"

Q sighed and rolled his eyes. "I really thought you weren't as stupid as the other mortals."

"If you won't answer me, does it mean that you can't?" I challenged.

"It means that you have an irrational concept of time as a fixed thing. Where's the need to resurrect someone who never died in the first place?" He threw me an irritated sideways glance. "And don't even think of trying those kind of infantile psychological tricks on me or I'll squash you like a bug."

I widened my eyes innocently. "It would never occur to me."

The expression on his face was most remarkable and I had difficulty suppressing my laughter. Q's company might perhaps not be to everyone's taste, but the combination of his intriguing abilities and confrontational personality had erased my temper within minutes. In some ways Q seemed positively Cardassian.

"Oh, please don't insult me," he muttered spitefully. "I just didn't want to spend an evening with you in that venomous frame of mind."

"How fortunate that I harbour no such reservations about you," I replied amicably. While hardly the safest of companions, my research had established that only those he referred to as ‘the masses' came to real harm around Q, and not those in whom he took an active interest. I’d been gently pushing further over the last few days and my theory seemed to be sound - none of those exotic threats ever came to pass.

"If you become too tiresome," he spat, "I shall simply withdraw my offer and select another subject."

That was a possibility that I had to take seriously. I smiled at him most genially. "I'm afraid we'll be eating in my quarters again tonight. None of the other establishments will be open." 

My concessionary change of tack reduced his glare to a pout. "Well I hope your replicator's been fixed. The algarian was quite revolting."

"I'm afraid my needs come rather low on the Bajorans' priority list," I replied. "Unless you'd care to put it right yourself?"

"I'm not your personal mechanic," he said haughtily. "I don't do requests."

"Then I suggest you stick to the panulsa."

"I'd rather pass on the food entirely." He gave a fair impression of long-suffering virtue. "I suppose I can just sit at your dinner table and watch you eat without me."

"In which case, perhaps you can enlighten me as to why you so dislike Shogoth's enigma tale?" I hadn't abandoned the hope of learning more about Q while he was studying me, and persuading him to do most of the talking seemed like a useful opportunity.

"Because the man was clearly an idiot," Q retorted. "What more is there to say?"

"Are you referring to the author or the character of Rusot?"

"Both," he insisted. "I have no idea how Shogoth thought he could convince a reader that Rusot would have killed Ekoorl in such an obvious manner. Hmmm," he pondered as I operated the door to my quarters. "Maybe I should drop in and ask him sometime."

"If you do, please let me know." I collected a bottle of kanar from my dwindling stores and poured two glasses. I certainly didn't trust the replicator to produce kanar. "I’ve always found that to be the least plausible aspect of the novel myself."

I handed Q his glass before turning to the errant replicator and requesting the panulsa. There was an offended splutter from behind me.

"What _is_ this excuse for kanar?" Q was looking at the glass with a great deal of suspicion.

"I agree that it isn't the best," I explained with a suitable degree of melancholy. "We finished the last of my vintage supply last night, and this is the least offensive alternative I have available."

"Well it isn't good enough for me." He snapped his fingers and two glasses of kanar appeared on the table in front of him. 

"How thoughtful of you to provide some for me as well," I smiled. Clearly the way to get things done around Q was not simply to ask him. Another useful thing to know.

The meal followed the usual pattern established over the previous days. We argued heatedly over whether the enigma tale was a literature form of any inherent value, bickered amicably on the subject of the wormhole aliens and found that we were firmly in agreement on the foul nature of Klingon cuisine. 

As I finished eating, Q retired to the sofa in his usual melodramatic fashion. Given that he strolled around the station with me on a near-daily basis, I failed to understand why he couldn't just walk across the room.

I took my glass and went to sit in the chair opposite.

"My dear Elim," Q called silkily, "Still so antisocial?" He stroked the sofa beside him. "I thought we had become friends."

I almost froze for an instant. "Oh, we have," I replied carefully, searching my brain for a plausible delay. The logical decision I had reached was one thing - the outright challenge in those dark eyes was quite another. I simply hadn't anticipated such a direct proposition, although I have no idea why I should have expected any other kind of approach from Q. 

"Surely we don't have to play these dull games," Q drawled. "It won’t be the first physical encounter you’ve entered into to obtain your desired ends, will it?”

Well that much was certainly true. And given an hour to consider, it was unlikely I’d make a different choice.

I pushed my glass across to the other side of the table and walked around to join him. His hand slid lazily along my thigh and rested there, dimpling the dark material of my clothing. My muscles instantly locked rigid beneath his touch.

"I take it you’re aware," I ventured, "that my knowledge of the human body is entirely theoretical?" I’d done a little research when I first considered this possibility, but that was hardly a substitute for practical experience.

"Well, so is mine." Q seemed entirely unconcerned. "I'm sure that between us we can come to an enjoyable arrangement." His mouth smiled at me but there was something entirely different in his eyes.

_Knowing how something tastes isn't the same thing as actually tasting it, wouldn't you agree?"_

That’s what this flirtation was about. The speculative knowledge considered inadequate compared to actually experiencing it.

“Just how human are you at the moment?" I asked carefully. It seemed prudent to know before I allowed this to progress further. The few humans I’d encountered over my years of work hadn’t proven to be the most physically resilient of species.

Q threw his head back and laughed. "My dear Elim," he said lightly, "I think you can let me take care of the details." He leaned in closer, gaze locking directly onto mine. "I can assure you," he added, threat prowling in the undertones of his words, "that you couldn't harm me even if you wished to." His hand trailed casually higher across my clothing.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to try," I replied truthfully, letting my eyes drift across him, assessing. I had no intention of being a passive partner in Q's little game. Conveniently he’d selected a wrap-around open-necked shirt for this evening's entertainments, and I slipped a hand into the opening and worked it downwards. The material parted, sliding feather-like around my wrist, his skin soft beneath my fingers. I had anticipated that scaleless skin might feel distasteful, rubbery, but this was like handling a golthan blend fabric. There was hair here too - fairly sparse, yet another new experience for me. Far from being objectionable, the result was a contrast that was oddly… pleasing.

Q's intense stare drew my attention. "That's better. More what I expected from you," he said, half-smiling, eyes alight with the dare. I found it quite stimulating.

"I don't intend to disappoint," I said loftily. 

"And I don't intend to let you," Q replied, his smile widening. There was no warning, no movement or light, but I was entirely naked, the sofa cool against my thighs, the air currents moving across my skin.

I narrowed my eyes in defiance. "I do hope you're going to join me."

Q lay back along the sofa, one arm raised above his head, the other hand lingering casually on my flank. "Isn't that up to you?"

So this was the way the game was to be played. I smiled wolfishly and reached across to undo the ties on his shirt. "I hope you haven't done anything permanent to my clothes," I murmured. "I would so hate to lose them." I drew a finger down his exposed abdomen, watching the skin twitch, the muscles withdraw. Some things varied little between species, it seemed. 

"Oh, I dare say you'll find them later," Q replied airily. Still full of confidence, still in control as if he weren't draped on his back across a sofa while I undressed him. 

I wanted to see if that could be changed. I found myself growing aroused, not directly by the body of my partner, but by the challenge he represented, this contest neither of us was prepared to lose.

"I'll certainly let you know if I don't," I replied. I leaned forward and nipped at the skin by his collarbone to reinforce my words. A strange taste - slightly salty with a hint of kanul about it. I had no idea whether that was a human trait or Q. The Federation’s files didn't go into such details.

He tilted his head to look at me. "And I'll let you know if you go too far," he said dryly, but there was no real censure in his voice. I felt him vibrate softly against me as he spoke. 

"You wanted to experiment, or so I thought." 

His lips twisted in that familiar not-quite-smile, but for once he managed not to make an untimely retort. I concentrated on his bared chest for now, exploring the contours of this strange anatomy, indulging myself in tracing the curled hairs. I felt his hands moving on me, my back, my flanks, scratching lightly between my scales and kneading the ridges.

It was a most unusual seduction; no real attraction on either side, but instead a mechanical arousal heated by the intrigue of the unknown and the game of power. There was no doubt where the real power lay, though, even while he allowed me the illusion of control, and that knowledge only heightened my need to wear him down, to see beyond that arrogant façade. I continued the dance, the slow tease, touching and tasting as I worked on the rest of his clothing, watching for every slight reaction in the body below me, ignoring the demands of my own nature to push further. Unfortunately, there is really no elegant way to remove trousers in this situation, and as I attempted to do so he snapped himself naked.

He looked at me speculatively. "This is all very pleasant," he announced, "but not quite what I had in mind - I think we need to liven things up a bit." And with that he leaned forwards and sank his teeth into my neck ridges. 

That certainly did heat things up.

*****

My next totally rational thought didn’t occur until a substantial time later, and inevitably I was left feeling very sticky and somewhat uncertain. Exactly what stage of our arrangement had we now reached?

At some point during the proceedings, Q had moved us to the bed. It had been rather longer than a year since I’d shared a bed with anyone, and I decided that the usual romantic protocols probably didn't apply to all-powerful aliens anyway.

Q flashed brightly. We were instantly clean, as was the bed. He looked at me thoughtfully. "I enjoyed that rather more than I thought I would."

"I find myself forced to concur." I’d met very few humans before Starfleet had arrived on the station, and I’d never considered taking one as a sexual partner. While Q was most certainly not human, the whole point of this exercise had been for him to experience it as a human would, and the outcome had been decidedly pleasant. 

I wriggled myself into a more natural position against the fresh sheets and pressed my head deeply into my pillow. While Q was as immaculate and animated as ever, I was still suffering from the after-effects of prolonged exertion. I had little desire for conversation and I certainly wasn't capable of our usual style of repartee. 

As agreeable as the evening had been, the idea of dealing with Q right now was quite unbearable.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't be staying. It's not as if I sleep anyway." The words were biting enough, but his tone was entirely inoffensive. For a moment, I almost forgot who I was with and imagined that perhaps he was being considerate.

"Then I'll see you for lunch tomorrow as usual?" I hazarded. I didn't dare hope that our agreement had been concluded with one session of energetic sex.

He sniffed. "Assuming this appalling station isn't in a state of complete chaos."

"Is that likely to happen?" I asked suspiciously.

He studied me carefully. "What would you do if I told you it was?"

"Leave, of course, what do you think?" I snapped. His games had lost their immediate appeal. 

"Touchy," he said haughtily. "Tell me, are all mortals like this after sex or is just you?"

"Most mortals sleep," I pointed out. I glanced at the chronometer. "Especially at this hour."

"How dull."

"For you maybe. We mortals enjoy it."

"How can you enjoy something you have no awareness of?" He sounded genuinely curious now.

I sighed. "Can we have this discussion tomorrow?"

"Oh, I'll leave if you insist," he sulked. "I can tell when I'm not wanted." He flashed brilliantly as he vanished, enough to irritate my eyes. I cursed softly and settled down to sleep.

I wondered if it were Q's fault directly or indirectly that I lay awake.

*****

This was certainly the most clinical sexual relationship I had found myself involved in, which isn’t to say that it wasn’t also enjoyable. I found myself gaining an unexpected aesthetic appreciation for the human form, which I had previously considered to be unpleasantly pale and smooth, somewhat insipid. I now discovered a different eye with which to observe the Starfleet and Bajoran inhabitants of the station; purely as a mental exercise, of course. Any attempt on my part to initiate such a relationship would likely be met with violence.

Q demonstrated little interest in me as a sexual partner, other than to ensure I had the required degree of arousal to maintain my enthusiasm. Q's primary motivation remained his curiosity about this humanoid body he habitually wore. As with the food, the knowledge wasn’t enough; he wanted to taste. 

We experimented with most of the standard human sexual practices, multiple times. He had little interest in Cardassian specialities. I was merely the guinea pig, there to assist Q in discovering what he liked. I took no offence at this state of affairs - I had never held different expectations. I was only grateful that I found these experiences to my liking. After so long in abstention, it would have been too cruel to find that the only sex available to me was something of a chore.

I couldn’t help but theorise on what had triggered Q's sudden interest in the sexual aspects of mortal life. Q had been appearing as human regularly for some years now - what had happened to cause him to finally investigate this possibility? 

Or who? 

I chastised myself for thinking too linearly. Time was meaningless to a Q, Who was to say that the Q in my bed wasn’t new to his human body? 

I wondered why he would have selected a Cardassian for his explorations. Perhaps the species of mortal was irrelevant? Inter-species romantic entanglements happened all the time; there were enough commonalities to make most combinations plausible. Was it because I was so desperate, so isolated, so easily manipulated to agree? Or maybe this was merely an afterthought, an impulsive addendum to our original conversational bargain?

I couldn't begin to know the answers, and of course I kept such speculations to myself. Q must have known I considered them, but it wasn’t something he would want to discuss.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was taking part in a trial scheme for something or someone else.

*****<

Our unconventional relationship followed a familiar pattern for the next week; lunch and dinner with Q, followed by an evening of more physical interactions. The meals had become rather leisurely, drawn-out affairs; I was spending less time at the shop as business had tailed off again. The civilian population of Deep Space Nine, as I now remembered to call it, had fallen by almost a quarter since the Cardassian attack.

I had no warning that Q himself was about to leave.

Q lay sprawled across the furniture after dinner in his usual manner. "Do you know, Elim, I've rather enjoyed our little arrangement," he commented, sipping idly at his kanar. 

Something in the nuances of his voice made it clear this wasn’t a casual remark. "You consider your study concluded?" I asked, carefully keeping the hope away from my voice. It wasn't that I'd resented Q's company particularly - indeed, he was far preferable to the misery in which I'd existed prior to his arrival - but if he were drawing our bargain to a close....

Q cast me a wickedly flirtatious look. "I'd say that I've discovered a great deal, wouldn't you?"

"More than you expected to, perhaps," I replied in the same tone. I didn't really believe that he would reveal what his intentions had been when we struck our deal, but there was certainly no harm in attempting to draw him out. 

His fingers snapped and the glass was gone as he sat upright. "I've certainly seen more than enough of this dismal floating box of yours," he said in disgust. "Destructive mobs roaming the corridors once again. Really, the place never seems to be under control."

"Odo wouldn't have tolerated that under the previous administration," I pointed out. "These Bajorans don't seem to have quite the enthusiasm for discipline that they might." At the time, I’d been only too happy that the malcontents had satisfied themselves with vandalising Odo's office and left my shop alone. Now, I really couldn't have cared less about the shop or the station. "So, when will you be leaving?" I asked.

He spoke softly. "Now."

I hadn't been expecting such a straightforward reply, and I stood stunned for a moment before a barely-remembered joy overwhelmed me. I could go home! Away from this miserable station that I detested as much as Q himself did, away from its pathetic inhabitants and all the inane tales of woe they spilled out at fittings. The sudden surge of enthusiasm filled me like a fire, lighting all those dark, deadened corners at my core.

"It's been a pleasure," I said genuinely. "And if you don't mind, I'd like you to send me home."

He looked directly at me, unflinching. "No," he said flatly.

I dropped my glass. It vanished before it could shatter across my floor. "No?" I demanded. Not the most inspiring of responses, I agree, but the shock had robbed me of my usual eloquence. How dare this arrogant alien attempt to deny me my payment?

"I don't think it's a good idea."

I glared at Q in undisguised fury. "You said you'd get me home."

Q merely looked bored and studied his fingernails. "Well, no, actually, I said I'd give you what you wanted the most."

Of course, that was exactly what he’d said - but how could there be any doubt about my most fervent wish? "And I want to go home," I reiterated stonily.

Q smiled sarcastically. "Ah, because we all like to have a home where we feel wanted, don't we?" he declared, before leaning inwards, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You wouldn't enjoy it, trust me."

"How can you know that?" I demanded, aware of the futility of the question as soon as it was asked.

He sighed now, adopting that forcedly patient expression I had seen on the faces of so many parents when explaining the obvious to their children. "Think about it, Elim - I could put you back in your position in the Obsidian Order, erase your fall from grace. But you're already aware of the limitations of that lifestyle, aren't you?"

I smiled coldly. "You underestimate me. I don't make the same mistakes twice."

He matched my expression. "I don't suppose you do." Was that almost a hint of respect in his voice? "But nothing would have changed - you'd still be Elim Garak, and your enemies would all still be there, the ones who hated you for what you were. And for what you weren’t."

"I can take care of them," I stated, with a little more confidence than I actually felt.

Q only laughed. "Even you couldn't remove half the Obsidian Order without being noticed, Garak. Though it might be amusing to watch you try," he added, appearing to be genuinely intrigued by the thought.

"Then give me the chance. I'll be your entertainment if that's what it takes," I said, with no hesitation.

"But then I'd probably end up watching you die," he replied, with an air of mock sadness. "Just as I was finding you interesting."

"You don't know, do you?" I asked in sudden amazement. The revelation was startling - this infuriating alien had a major flaw, a weakness in his knowledge. "You don't actually know my future."

"There are thousands of possible futures you could live." He dismissed my comment with a cavalier wave. "I can predict them all; but which one you choose is entirely in your own hands."

"So there’s only a chance of my being killed, not a certainty." I persisted with my line of thought, thoroughly satisfied with my own deductions. "I'll take that risk, if you don't mind - send me home!"

Q regarded me now with serious eyes, the theatrical persona banished once more. "I can't offer you a certainty, no. But there would be a very high probability of you dying within a month, by a variety of unpleasant means. Your former colleagues had some very graphic ideas regarding the method of your disposal - I could enlighten you if you'd like?"

"I don't care how you calculate the odds!" The prolonged stress of this conversation was having its predictable effect - I could feel the endorphins from the implant starting to trickle through my nervous system to counteract my anger and despair. Much more of this and I would be drugged into uncaring acceptance once again. "Don't you understand? It doesn't matter how poor my chances are, I would much prefer to be dead than to continue this appalling existence!"

I’d never before spoken it aloud, but the thought was far from new to me. It didn't seem to come as a surprise to Q either, that dark gaze still meeting mine unflinchingly. "You feel that way now," he said finally, "but once back on Cardassia Prime you would find that you place a higher value on your life."

Fine - if this alien had qualms about sending me to my death, there were other options available. "So don't send me back into the identical situation," I offered. "You could make any number of alterations to reduce the risks of my return."

"Ah," Q said, his demeanour suddenly full of self-satisfaction. "I wondered when you were going to suggest that." He stretched himself lazily across his sofa, making a show of considering the options. "So what are the alternatives? I could change your history, so that you were never in the Order. You could be a simple tailor on Cardassia, just making a living with all the other peasants." He cast a sly sideways glance at me. "But that wouldn't really be you, would it? You'd live a life of seething resentment, wondering what went wrong, why you never became what you were capable of."

"Not a great deal different from my life right now, wouldn't you say?" I suggested wryly.

"But at least you know why. Not knowing, thinking that you could have been Cardassia's shining star; it would eat at you, Garak, and destroy your soul."

"Assuming that I have one to destroy." 

Q ignored my automatic response - the scenario he was describing was indeed untenable and he knew it. "There are other alternatives, of course - there always are. Some middle course, where you could remain yourself and still return to Cardassia? Don't wish for that too hard, Elim. Cardassia would have to change a great deal for you to be safe there. You might not like it."

In the end, it was Q's transparent sincerity that convinced me. With all that I had seen and read of this alien, I hadn't expected that. I couldn't doubt his knowledge and now I found I no longer doubted his motivation.

He was telling me the truth. 

It crushed me completely. That small hope I’d been clinging to seemingly forever was smashed into a hundred glittering pieces. My anger transformed to pure venom before the rush of the drug could finally engulf me. "So what exactly is it that I want? If you know so much, tell me that, oh omnipotent one!"

Q ignored my outburst. "That's all been taken care of. You'll get what you want, but it may take a little time."

"That's it?" I stood completely aghast. I’d played this creature's games unfailingly and he was leaving me nothing! "You expect me to simply believe you?"

He shrugged. "I don't see that you have any choice." He turned away dismissively, then paused and looked back, speaking more softly. "I have some advice for you."

"Advice? Ah, of course, that's exactly what my life has been lacking." I concentrated hard on the biting sarcasm, even as the world shrank away beneath the opiates to become so petty and unimportant.

"Don’t dismiss the Starfleet humans, Elim Garak." Q leaned forwards to speak through the creeping narcotic haze. "One of them is more than they appear." He gave a twisted little smile then. "Well, more than one of them actually, but I'll leave you to work that out for yourself. It's the sort of puzzle you should enjoy." And with that cryptic comment, he flashed out of my life for good.

*****

It was almost an hour before I returned to my functional self to sufficiently consider those parting words. At that point, I came to two separate conclusions - I really must complete the control I had devised for the implant and I needed to discover what Q had meant about the humans. I still had little idea what had inspired Q to dabble in my life, but this information was all I was left with in compensation.

Oh, I noted somewhat belatedly. He’d also left me a sofa.

I called up the Starfleet personnel records once more, paying a great deal more attention this time around. I ignored the lower ranks and concentrated on the officers and senior staff - I didn't believe that Q would have been referring to the 'masses'. One of these people was the key Q had given me to unlocking the humans' secrets. 

I discounted Dax because of species - Q had definitely said 'human’ and Kira was neither human nor technically Starfleet. 

I scoured carefully through the remaining files. Benjamin Sisko – he would hardly be an easy subject. Miles O'Brien - Q had referred to him in the most insulting terms, it seemed unlikely. 

Julian Bashir....


End file.
